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The Devil You Know	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2281 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 1-Taken
- 2-Hostage
- 3-Survival
- 4-Home
- 5-Aftermath
- 6-Suspicions
- 7-Confessions
- 8-Recovery
- 9-Verdict
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter Four – Home

Draco stared down at Harry's sleeping form, he couldn't fathom what he was feeling.

Frustration?

Annoyance?

Disappointment?

Some combination of the three?

He didn't know anymore.

They'd been in the woods for five days. Five days without clothing, or their wands, or a way out of this damnable forest. It was a small mercy that Harry at least knew a thing or two about surviving against the elements, or they would have been dead long ago.

But with it came Harry's constant requests.

“Come on, Draco, it'll help keep us warm, it's freezing tonight...”

“I don't care, I'll marry you right now, if that helps...”

“Don't be so frigid, it won't hurt, I promise...”

The pestering, the coercion attempts, it was beginning to wear on Draco, and he had begun to wonder if keeping the relationship going once they escaped the forest was even an option anymore.

That is, if we ever escape this damn place...

It felt like they were going in circles. Everything always looked the same, and Draco had no way of telling if they were, indeed, getting anywhere nearer the exit. He was tired of it—tired of sleeping on the hard ground, tired of being cold, tired of scrounging for food like some sort of animal. He wanted to go home.

“Draco...”

His name was spoken in a sigh, and he turned in their tiny crevasse of rock to see Harry shifting closer to him, and he snuggled close. Draco felt his heart break a little, and he settled down next to his boyfriend, while he sent a prayer up to any God or Goddess who might be listening that they might help them find a way home.

~*~

The following day was different than the others preceding it.

It started like the five before it—they got up, looked for food, drank some water, and began to walk. They were now in an area where they could at least see the sky through the trees, and Draco guessed that it had to be around noon.

They had been following the brook, which had expanded to a proper stream teeming with fish, and the water was so clear that Draco could see to the very bottom without really trying.

Draco hadn't been paying attention to where they were going, and was instead watching a vixen and her kits on the other side of the stream stopping for a drink. Harry's sudden cry got his attention, and he whirled around just in time to see him running on ahead towards something nestled in the bushes.

Their clothes.

“They're here! They're all here!” Harry cried, and held up Draco's discarded shirt as evidence. It was dirty, caked in mud, and made an odd cracking sound when Harry tried to shake it out, but it was definitely his.

“Oh, thank the Gods!” Draco cried as he ran to join Harry, and stopped just shy of him as he began to sift through the garments, “our wands?” he asked, and Harry searched through everything more feverishly. With a frown, he looked up and shook his head at Draco.

“Come on,” Harry said in a consoling tone, clearly sensing Draco's disappointment, “We'll wash these off in the stream, and I'll get a fire going to dry them off, yeah?”

“Fine...”

Draco followed Harry's lead, and while Harry went about making one of his muggle fires, he took to the task of scrubbing the stiff clothes of the mud and grime, and frowned when he noticed more than a few holes in their garments, showing where they had been chewed through by small animals.

He had just been finishing with their clothes and had moved onto his boots and Harry's trainers when he heard the crackle of success behind him, followed by Harry's whoop of triumph.

Once Harry had arranged their clothes out to dry, he came over and helped Draco with the last few items, then Draco stood with a stretch. Immediately, Harry's hand found his, and his resolve from the night before, his intent to leave Harry once this was all over, began to waver.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked, and the wounded puppy expression in his eyes tugged at Draco's heartstrings.

“Just need to stretch my legs,” he replied with a small, reassuring smile. “I won't go far.”

Harry nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and let his hand drop as Draco stepped off, and began to mill about, still within view of each other, but far enough away that Draco could hear himself think again.

He didn't know what to do.

Draco glanced back towards where Harry sat, he turning their clothes periodically to ensure that they dried evenly, and Draco felt lost.

I wish you were here, Professor Snape. You would know what to do.

Immediately, Draco conjured up a mental image of his lost mentor, and a lump formed in his throat.

“Your first priority is to yourself, Draco,” Draco imagined Snape would say, in that low melodic tone of his, “everything else is secondary. If you are ever in doubt, leave. Humans generally have an irrational capacity to forgive, and there is always time to mend things that have been broken.”

Draco glanced over to Harry again.

Was it right? Was his imagined Snape's advice something he could follow in good conscience?

Maybe if I try to break it off, Harry will realize that I'm serious about the virginity thing, and respect it a little more...

It was possible, at least.

At the same moment that he came to a decision, his foot came down upon something uneven, which rolled precariously under his sole. Draco wobbled dangerously, but kept his balance, and glanced down to see what he had stepped on. He gasped.

Their wands.

Draco dropped down and snatched them up, and looked over to where Harry sat, and back again. He studied the spot where he stood, and with a sickening realization, he recognized that this was the exact spot where Harry had found their clothes.

Draco studied the wands, and did not immediately call out to Harry. He turned them over in his fingers, his brow furrowed, and glanced up again.

How on earth could Harry have missed them?

A tiny seed of doubt rooted in his mind, and Draco bit his lip.

But Harry would never...it's just not in his nature.

Despite this rationalization, he still felt uneasy.

Bracing himself for the worst possible outcome, he stood and strode back over to Harry.

“Hey,” he said with an easy smile as Draco approached, “great timing, everything's just about dry—”

Draco cut him off by shoving the holly wand at him.

Harry's reaction was one of deep relief, and he gaped up at Draco.

“Oh, thank God!” Harry cried, and jumped up to hug Draco. “I was hoping that madman hadn't snapped them...where did you find them?”

“Right where you found our clothes,” Draco replied, his tone icy and accusing. Harry's eyes widened. A regretful look filled those eyes, and Draco immediately began to wonder whether he'd massively miscalculated the situation, but he'd gone too far to back down now. “Were you deliberately leading us in circles? Did you leave our wands behind on purpose?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Harry sputtered, and Draco saw a number of emotions cross his face. Horror, hurt, and guilt being chief amongst them. However, it seemed as though it was directed at Draco's accusation, and not because he'd done anything shameful. “I'm sorry, Draco, I really am, I was just so relieved to find our clothes I must have missed them in all the twigs and things. I thought you knew me better than that, I'd never do something so...awful.”

Draco sagged a little, both in relief and shame for suspecting him. After all, he'd been in Gryffindor, not Slytherin. Subterfuge was simply not in his character.

“I'm sorry too,” Draco replied with a small wince, “I suppose I'm beginning to not see clearly...it's been hard, being out here.”

Harry pulled him into a close embrace, one which Draco readily returned. Harry did not smell anywhere in the realm of good—he smelled of body odour, and grime, and mud, but the scent was familiar and comforting.

“That makes two of us,” Harry murmured, and moved so that they faced each other again, and he pulled Draco into a gentle, tender kiss. “Come on, let's get dressed, and we'll go home.”

Home.

Draco could have wept in relief.

They hastened into their clothing, Draco so desperate to see his parents again, to sleep in a bed, and have a bath, and eat food that he didn't cook himself that he didn't even pause to complain about the gritty feel of the barely-clean clothes against his skin, nor the unpleasant stiffness the garments now carried from the improper washing.

“Ready to go?” Harry asked, and extended a hand to him. Draco took it without hesitation.

Harry kissed him one more time, then with a twist, the hellish forest dissolved around him, and within seconds, he was standing outside of the Malfoy Manor.

Draco couldn't help it—when the tears of relief came to his eyes he allowed them to fall.

They cut clean streaks through the grime on his face, and Harry embraced him, rubbing his back as he led him up to the high, imposing gates. He'd never thought he'd be so grateful to be home.

They'd barely cleared the gate before the front doors burst open, and standing there, looking more unkempt than Draco could recall ever seeing her in his life, was his mother.

She was pale, certainly paler than her natural fair complexion. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her hair carried an unwashed look to it. Harry took a step back from him, and not a moment too soon as Narcissa ran forwards and pulled Draco into a bone-crushing hug.

Draco could barely breathe, but he didn't care. He knew Harry was still watching this emotional scene, but in the relief, he couldn't care less about Malfoy Dignity. He was still crying into his mother's shoulder when he felt a warm weight embrace both himself and his mother, and it took him a moment to realize that it was his father.

It was a true testament to how trying the whole ordeal had been—Draco could not recall the last time his father had shown such emotion towards him. It wasn't decent, after all, to openly grieve. A Malfoy must always carry on.

“My son,” Lucius murmured, his voice shaking audibly, “Draco, you're home...you're home...”

It was a long moment before they stepped back a little to give him some air, and Draco was reminded suddenly of Harry's presence. He was staring down at his trainers, scuffing the toe against the cobblestones that made up the walkway, like a child waiting his turn for attention from a relative.

“Come inside, you two,” Narcissa said, and Harry's gaze jerked up at her addressing him as well as Draco. Draco, too, was surprised by this. His mother had never acknowledged Harry in such a courteous manner before. “We'll get you washed up and some fresh clothes, something to eat...you must be exhausted.”

She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to them as she shepherded the pair inside, and up towards the second level. Draco was too tired to protest her mollycoddling, and instead allowed her to go about it, still tittering half statements as she went, mentioning things like contacting Granger (which made no sense) and finding something for Harry to wear, and destroying the 'filthy rags' that they were wearing.

Narcissa escorted Draco and Harry to separate bathrooms, but did not leave her son alone. Draco was somewhat relieved for this—he was a little afraid of what might happen if he was left to his own devices. However, she did have the decency to turn her back while he shed his dirty clothes and slid into the prepared hot bath.

He actually moaned out loud as he submerged himself into the hot water. It was scented with lavender and chamomile, and the natural relaxants made Draco feel as though he might fall asleep in the tub without effort.

It feels like forever since I took a proper bath, Draco thought with a leisurely sigh, taking his time in washing himself, while his mother looked on in silence, as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

“Is...is the water temperature all right, Draco?” she asked at last just as Draco cupped his hands in the water and splashed it over his face.

“It's wonderful, Mother, thank you,” he replied, and exchanged a small smile with the Malfoy matriarch.

Draco reluctantly left the bath forty-five minutes later, again his mother turning her back as he used a drying charm on himself and pulled on the clothes left out for him—woollen socks, soft sheepskin trousers, and a thin but warm black angora jumper.

“Your father contacted the Auror Office while you were in the bath,” Narcissa said as they stepped out of the bathroom and headed for the stairs leading back to the main level. “We all thought it might be best for you two to give them your account of what happened while it was fresh in your minds.”

“I agree, Mother,” Draco replied with a short nod of his head. He didn't want to talk about it, he just wanted to forget that it ever happened, but he wanted this madman caught before he tried this again.

In the entryway, he saw Harry stepping out of the lounge with Granger and Weasley flanking him. His expression brightened when he saw Draco, and he abandoned his friends to move to Draco's side, and he slipped his hand into the blond's and offered the limb a small squeeze.

“All right?” he asked, and Draco shrugged.

“Honestly, I don't know,” he replied, and Harry nodded a little.

“I know how you feel,” Harry said, and shifted to wrap an arm around his middle, and Draco mirrored the embrace.

“Come along, you two,” Narcissa said, though the order was much gentler than Draco would have expected. “Lucius informed the house elves of your return, and as I understand it, they've prepared enough food to feed ten of you.”

At the promise of food, both boys' expressions brightened, and they hurried to follow her.
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The Devil You Know